


it can be so lonely in this city (but it feels different when you're with me)

by dwoht, robinbuckli



Category: Glee
Genre: i've had this concept sitting in my drafts for like 3 years and i'm finally writing it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:48:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23161996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwoht/pseuds/dwoht, https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinbuckli/pseuds/robinbuckli
Summary: A study was conducted to explore whether two strangers could be influenced into falling in love. Participants were paired at random, then given a list of thirty-six questions to ask each other.
Relationships: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray
Comments: 21
Kudos: 203





	it can be so lonely in this city (but it feels different when you're with me)

**Author's Note:**

> stream heartbreak weather by niall horan on spotify

The tab has been open on the internet browser in her laptop for a full week.

The ad had just shown up during one of her many zombie-like scrolls through Facebook, and Rachel almost thought it was a stupid scam, until the location and promise of money left her itching to click on it. It’s intriguing, to say the least.

She tells herself it’s stupid, and that there’s no way she’ll actually _do_ it, but the tab remains open day after day. It’s there when she opens the lid to check the time in the morning, as she’s taking notes during class, when she clicks through the internet to avoid doing homework, and is ever present in the corner of her mind as she explains it to Kurt.

“A study?”

“Yes, the NYU psychology department is studying human emotions or something. They want to see if they can ‘generate intimacy in a lab’ or something,” Rachel says, shrugging.

“Yeah, right,” Kurt snorts. She gives him a pointed look, no specific message intended, but one vaguely along the lines of _Just because you and Blaine broke up doesn’t mean you have to be bitter about love all the time_ gets across anyway.

“Exactly,” Rachel says, filling out the application. She quickly types in her name, contact info, and ignores the skip in her heartbeat when she selects “female” for the gender of the person she wants to be paired with. “Exactly,” she repeats, “it’s not like it’s actually going to work, and I need the money.”

“Starving artist,” Kurt muses. “How much could they be possibly paying you for this?”

“Four hundred dollars, actually,” Rachel says indignantly. “That’s my half of this month’s rent. Or a lot of pizza.”

“Well, I expect to be taken out to dinner with this money,” Kurt says. He pauses, then sports that shit-eating grin he saves just for Rachel, and continues, “And I look forward to meeting your future wife.”

Rachel rolls her eyes and protests with as much as she can muster that it’s not _real_ and it’s not going to _work_ , but that doesn’t explain the fluttering in her stomach as she checks in for the study the next day. Filling out the final paperwork, she scans the room, wondering who she’ll be paired with.

Everyone else seems to be engaging in a similar game of cat and mouse; they all want to look at the people around them, but don’t want anyone else to know they’re staring. It’s ridiculously juvenile, but Rachel partakes anyway.

Finally, a woman comes out and calls her name. She flushes at the slight tremor in her hand as she hands the papers to the proctor, but the woman seems nice enough, and just smiles. “Hi, Rachel.”

“Hi,” Rachel answers, somehow feeling more nervous than the first time she met Madame Tibideaux. The proctor gestures for her to have a seat, and she does, sitting in one of the two surprisingly comfortable chairs. The rest of the room is empty, save for a small table in between both seats.

“Your partner will be coming soon,” she says, and, speaking of the devil, the door opens. A college aged boy comes in, and Rachel is about to open her mouth to say there’s been a mistake, when the boy turns and waves someone else in.

Quite possibly the prettiest girl Rachel has ever seen walks into the room, wearing a light yellow, form-fitting sundress, and confidence so apparent it takes Rachel’s breath away. Or maybe it’s the eye color so intense she can’t quite place it. Or the way her blonde hair falls effortlessly around her shoulders.

Or maybe it’s the way the girl has suddenly fixed her gaze directly onto her. She’s eyeing Rachel up and down, not even attempting to hide her judgement, and though Rachel knows she should probably be somewhat offended, if she’s being completely honest, it turns her on a little.

When she decided to enter the study, she didn’t think she’d be paired with, well, her _exact_ type.

Then the girl smiles, her eyes soften, and when she takes a seat across from Rachel, her voice is soft and light when she says, “Hey. I’m Quinn.”

“Rachel,” she says. Of _course_ this girl would have one of those names that’s cool without trying and memorable without being overly unique. Of course she’d have a voice that sounds like it should be recording audio books.

“Thanks?” Quinn says.

Mortified, Rachel feels her cheeks flush, and she manages to squeak out, “I didn’t mean to say that.”

The proctor interrupts Rachel’s internal breakdown by setting a stack of cards on the little table in between the two. “This is a list of thirty-six questions. Go back and forth answering all of them. It will be recorded, and it may be monitored, which you signed a release for in the waiting room.”

“And when we’re done?” Rachel asks.

“I’ll know,” is all the proctor says. Then she turns and leaves.

“Okay...” Rachel chuckles, still burning from embarrassment after her stupid slip up. “Shall we?”

Quinn nods, and picks up the first card. Her movements are smooth and calculated, and her posture has a comfortable elegance to it as she settles back into her chair and reads, “Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?”

“Easy,” Rachel says immediately. “Barbara Streisand.”

“She’s a singer, right?” Quinn says. Rachel nods, biting her lip to refrain from launching into the small bio she’s memorized on her. Quinn doesn’t reply, just makes a non-committal sound, and then says, “Mine would be Serena Williams.”

“Do you play tennis?” Rachel asks dumbly.

Quinn smiles and shakes her head. “No, I just admire her.” She starts a new pile with cards they’ve used, then picks up the next one. “Would you like to be famous? In what way?”

“Sure,” Rachel says, the answer slipping easily off her tongue. Maybe it’s because she’s always had a selfish streak, but talking about herself has started to relax her. “Use the power for good and all that, I guess. You?”

“I don’t think so,” Quinn admits. “I like the idea of being a positive influence, but... I don’t know if I could handle all the scrutiny and public opinion. High school was bad enough.”

Rachel can’t help but laugh at that, but finds it hard to believe Quinn was ever the kind of person to have a hard time in school. Hesitantly, she asks, “Were you unpopular or something?”

Quinn pauses. Her face is unreadable, but eventually settles, and she says, “No, but it’s complicated.” Then she gestures towards the cards and says, “I have a feeling we’ll get to that.”

The non-answer just spurs on Rachel’s intrigue even more, which she didn’t think was possible, but she says, “Fair enough,” and nods to the next one.

“Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?”

“Not unless it’s really important,” Rachel shrugs. “I like to use it as improv practice.”

“Are you an actress?” Quinn asks. 

Rachel shrugs again. “That’s the plan.”

“That’s cool,” Quinn says. She eyes Rachel with another unreadable expression, and then says, “I don’t either, but that’s mostly because I avoid calling people.” Before Rachel can open her mouth again, she answers the unspoken question with, “I just prefer talking in person.”

“I respect that,” Rachel says. “Next one?”

“What could constitute a perfect day for you?” Quinn reads aloud.

Rachel smiles. “I’d make my roommate make me breakfast, then take a walk in Central Park with my roommate, who also happens to be my best friend, get Mexican food, see a musical on Broadway, go to an open mic night, then go home and be asleep before midnight.”

“Open mic night, huh?” Quinn says.

“I like to perform,” Rachel says, then explains, “The acting I want to do is Broadway, really. Not so much into the screen thing.: 

Quinn bites her bottom lip thoughtfully, then carefully starts, “I’d go walking around, take a bunch of pictures, talk to some strangers--”

“By yourself?” Rachel interrupts. She cringes. “Sorry.”

“I like to hang out alone,” Quinn admits. “Don’t get me wrong, being social is a huge part of my life, but I’ve spent a long time learning to be comfortable with myself, and I figure I might as well enjoy it.”

“I mean, yeah,” Rachel says, suddenly coming to terms that she spends a lot of time with friends specifically so she _isn’t_ left alone with herself.

“Then I’d get dinner with my friends,” Quinn says, “go to a classy bar or something, have some drinks...” she pauses, then cocks her head to one side and throws Rachel a wink. “And get laid, of course.”

Well, if Rachel wasn’t sure she’s into women, she is now. She thinks she might pass out or let out a strange sound somewhere in between a squeak and a moan, so she quickly covers up the silence with a rambling answer that makes almost no sense, and tries to ignore Quinn’s knowing smirk as she fumbles over her words. 

Not reveling in Rachel’s breakdown for too long, she swipes a new card and says, “When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?” She sets the card down and says, “Well, I can assume you do both quite often.”

“Guilty,” Rachel says. “I gave my wonderful roommate a private concert this morning while I made breakfast, then gave myself a private concert while I showered.”

“Do I get a private concert?” Quinn asks, and Rachel marvels in the way the blonde can make one sentence so heavy with implications, while still delivering the words in a way so she could deny it.

Rachel flushes, again. Then she remembers the confident person she usually is and gestures to the one way glass. “Not so private, hm?”

Quinn shrugs, and there’s amusement dancing in her eyes. “Worth a try. I don’t sing to other people... well, ever. I sing to myself every day, though.”

“Private concert?” Rachel counters, feeling her usual confidence come back little by little. It’s worth it, too, because Quinn breaks into a smile so wide it’s like sunshine itself.

“You’re going to have to take me to dinner first,” she quips. Before Rachel can even process what she just said, she has the next card in her hand. “If you were able to live to the age of ninety and retain either the mind or body of a thirty-year-old for the last sixty years of your life, which would you want?”

“Body,” Rachel says immediately. She ignores the way Quinn blatantly checks her out up and down, and says, “Can’t perform if your body won’t let you.”

“I’d go with mind,” Quinn says. She shrugs. “Maybe I’ll still be hot as a ninety-year-old, but I would hate to lose the power of a good conversation.”

“I’ve never described a ninety-year-old as ‘hot,’” Rachel says, biting her lip, “but if anyone could do it, it would probably be you.”

Like usual, Quinn doesn’t say anything, she just fixes her gaze on Rachel with an impassive facial expression and starts on the next one. “Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?”

“Assassinated at the theater like Abraham Lincoln,” Rachel says immediately.

Quinn arches an eyebrow in a way that might almost be mean, if her lips weren’t tugging into a smile. “Seriously? Dramatic much?”

“Anything involving death is dramatic,” Rachel argues. “How about you?”

“Probably photographing a dangerous place, like a war zone,” Quinn supposes.

“You’re a photographer?” Rachel says.

“Sort of,” Quinn says. “More of a journalist, but I’d like to do both. For, like, National Geographic or something cool like that.”

“That’s really awesome,” Rachel says, suddenly feeling silly about her own heavily hinted at career path.

  
“Don’t sell yourself short, Broadway,” Quinn says, nudging Rachel’s foot with her own. Clearing her throat, she reads the next card. “Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.” She observes Rachel heavily, which of course makes her squirm, but then says, “You look like a Scorpio.”

“Yep,” Rachel admits, then says, “We’re both artists, sort of.”

Quinn taps her chin absentmindedly, and then does that smirk she does where she’s about to say something that’s going to make Rachel blush. “We’re both smoking hot.”

 _Yep_ , Rachel thinks, cursing how easily her cheeks redden. _Here it comes_. She rolls her eyes to try and hide how flustered she is, but she can tell Quinn sees right through it. Half of her is thinking, _I’m glad Quinn knows how attractive she is; good for her_ , and the other half is doing backflips over the fact that Quinn thinks _she’s_ hot.

“For what in your life do you feel most grateful?” Quinn says. 

“My best friend, Kurt,” Rachel says. “We’ve been through a lot, but he’s my person, you know?”

Quinn nods like she’s listening, but she has a far away look in her eyes, and when Rachel has paused too long for it to mean anything other than it being her turn to answer, she says with just a slight tremor in her voice, “I’m grateful for my wheelchair.” Rachel apparently is _not_ as good an actress as she thinks, because Quinn just laughs at her face. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m sorry,” Rachel says, “I didn’t mean -- I just -- well, I’m surprised.”

“I was too,” Quinn jokes. Then her face sobers and she shrugs. “I got in a really bad car accident when I was in high school. The first semester of my junior year. I was paralyzed for a really long time, and it’s honestly just dumb luck that I’m not still paralyzed today. It taught me a lot, though, as predictable and cliche as that sounds.”

“So when you were saying high school popularity was complicated...” Rachel says.

“I was head cheerleader,” Quinn continues, nodding. “Dating the star quarterback. Really the most typical popular cheerleader ever, but even that didn’t save me from the talk when I came back to school on wheels. My whole high school career was a battle of who I used to be and who I became.”

“Those aren’t necessarily two different people,” Rachel says gently.

“I think it’s a good thing they _are_ ,” Quinn says quietly. “You would not have liked me pre-accident.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Rachel begins, but she thinks back to the cheerleaders that used to bully her in school, and it’s not difficult to picture Quinn there. A high ponytail, the right outfit, and suddenly that arched eyebrow and intense stare would be read a lot differently.

“I do,” Quinn says. Rachel doesn’t argue. She shrugs. “Like I said, it’s not who I am anymore.” Then she’s on to the next question, and when she speaks again, her voice has returned to the clear confidence Rachel has become used to. “If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?”

“I would have liked to travel more,” Rachel says. “There’s so much of the world I don’t understand or even know about, and you really have to just see it for yourself.”

“I wish my parents raised me to be more open-minded,” Quinn says. “My family is really Christian, which is fine, I am, too, but they let their faith dictate more than just their relationship to God, and they taught me to do the same.”

“One of my dads is Jewish,” Rachel starts, “but it was never a big thing.”

“Religion is bittersweet,” is all Quinn says. “Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.”

“Well, I was born from a surrogate mother, and I have two dads. One is my biological, but we don’t know which one,” Rachel says with a little smile. “I’ve always wanted to perform, and as I got older, decided I wanted to be on Broadway. I did a Glee club in high school, then moved to New York with my best friend, Kurt, when we both got into the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts. And now here I am.”

“That wasn’t four minutes,” Quinn observes.

Rachel shrugs. “I’m not very interesting.”

“I have to believe that’s not true,” Quinn muses, but she allows them to move on. “I guess my story is kind of the opposite. I was born into the definition of an average midwest family. Two parents, older sister, church every Sunday. Everything changed when I got in the accident. I decided, _Fuck it_ , might as well just let people talk about everything all at once. I came out as gay.”

Rachel tries not to let her heart jump at that, and thinks, dumbly, _Of course she’s gay, she asked to be partnered with a woman in a study about falling in love._

“My parents kicked me out,” Quinn says, her voice getting smaller. “I was taken off the cheerleading squad because of my accident, and I lost... everything.”

“I can’t even imagine, Quinn,” Rachel says. There’s a stutter in her heart beat when Quinn flicks her eyes up to lock with hers at the mention of her name.

“Yeah, well, in the end I found myself, and I found my way back to the things that mattered to me,” Quinn says. There’s an air of nonchalance in her tone, but her eyes are troubled. “Especially now that most people wouldn’t be able to tell that my body is still all sorts of fucked up, it made me think about the stories and lives people have that nobody will ever know about. It got me interested in journalism, photography. I moved to New York when I transferred from Yale to NYU, and here _I_ am.”

“That wasn’t four minutes, either,” Rachel says to fill the silence, while secretly, thinking, _NYU_ and _Yale, Is there anything she_ can’t _do?_

It’s as if Quinn has read her mind because she throws on a lopsided smile and says, “When life gives you lemons, right?”

“Right,” Rachel agrees.

Quinn adds the card to the growing pile of used ones and flips the next question. “If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?”

“Perfect pitch,” Rachel says, frowning at Quinn’s roll of the eyes. “Too predictable?”

“Mine would be teleportation,” Quinn decides. “Would save some money on traveling.” She switches out the cards. “If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?”

“Do I win a Tony?” Rachel says. Quinn rolls her eyes again, but it’s not hostile, just amused.

She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t want to know anything. All my life I got by with manipulation and learning everyone’s secrets. I think it’s better for me to just take it one day at a time.” Then, “Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?”

“Well, be on Broadway,” Rachel says with a little laugh. Then she hesitates, mind going a million miles a minute, and briefly registers Quinn waiting patiently for her to figure out... whatever it is that’s going on. She takes a deep breath and says, “But, really, I’ve been dreaming of telling my friends that I’m gay.”

“Oh?” Quinn says, unable to mask her surprise.

“In high school I was so boy crazy,” Rachel says. She chuckles a little. “It didn’t mix well with my social status being the lowest on the totem pole. But I made it work, had a few relationships. I just thought it was what I was _supposed_ to do. Some of the football players joined the Glee club... long story, and I became obsessed with getting one of them to date me. It became so calculated that I lost sight of the feelings, and then eventually I realized there weren’t any.”

“Aren’t your dads gay?” Quinn says.

“Yeah,” Rachel says. “The funny thing is I never even considered I’d be gay, too.” She decides that’s enough opening up for now, and plasters a Broadway worthy smile across her face. “And you?”

Quinn looks like she wants to say something else, but she just says, “I’d like to reach out to my father. I haven’t seen him since I was eighteen and he had to sign my trust fund over to me. I guess I’m just scared he’d be disappointed.”

“Of what?” Rachel says.

Quinn is quiet, and when her eyes meet Rachel’s, they’re just soft. “Of _me_.”

“No,” Rachel starts, but she really has no idea what to say.

“And then, of course, scared _and_ disappointed with myself. Like, why do I even care what he thinks?” Quinn says. Her words are chased with a little laugh, but there’s no warmth in it, and there’s a clench in her jaw so cold it almost scares Rachel. She thinks she might elaborate, but with a little shake of her head, her face relaxes, and the shadow in her eyes is gone as quickly as it came. She smiles. “What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?”

“You go first,” Rachel says, still trying to piece together how Quinn is able to compartmentalize so quickly.

“Learning to walk again,” Quinn says, shrugging.

Rachel rolls her eyes almost playfully. “Well, now I don’t want to say mine.”

Quinn laughs. “Go ahead, Broadway.”

“Getting into NYADA,” Rachel says. “I mean, it’s just college, but it got me out of a small town, and to my favorite city in the world. I really think it could be my ticket to the professional stage.”

“That’s awesome,” Quinn says, and Rachel can’t help but think that she really means it. “What do you value most in a friendship?”

“Honesty,” Rachel says before she’s even thought about it. She hesitates, biting at one lip. “It’s just, if there’s no honesty, there’s nothing. I can argue and fight and make up and work through just about every problem, but everything has to be on the table, you know?”

Quinn nods. “I get that. I guess mine is sort of similar; loyalty. You don’t have to agree with everything I say or do -- in fact, it would be alarming if someone did -- but you can’t just quit on me.” 

“I wouldn’t quit on you,” Rachel says without thinking. She flushes, hoping Quinn will make a joke or even just roll her eyes, but she says nothing, eyes fixed on Rachel’s face.

There are times when Quinn’s eyes are an open book, and then times like this where she just stares with such a blank expression it’s almost scary. Paired with a slight purse of her lips, Rachel would be lying if she said that expression didn’t do it for her, and if possible, the idea of that makes her flush even more.

Eventually, Quinn’s gaze travels back down to the stack of question cards, and Rachel lets out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. “What is your most treasured memory?” 

“Moving into my first apartment,” Rachel says. “It was the one I still live in now, actually, with Kurt, my best friend. It just was a culmination of everything. Everything I’ve worked for, dreamed of, and promised myself.”

“I guess me, too,” Quinn muses, but then blinks once and says, “but, actually, I think I’d say my most treasured memory was when my parents kicked me out.”

“Really?” Rachel says, unable to hide the scandalized expression on her face.

Quinn rolls her eyes, but her smile is genuine when she explains, “Even as hurt and confused and scared as I was, a large part of myself was also relieved. I didn’t panic. I just packed my stuff as quickly as I could, and then I left. And I actually felt a little... happy. I spent so long doing things to make _them_ happy, and I was too scared to do anything about it. Having the choice to leave made for me was freeing.”

“Okay, I can see that,” Rachel admits. “It kinda hurts me to know that’s your most treasured memory, though.”

“It is what it is,” Quinn says softly, and all Rachel wants to do is scream, _It doesn’t have to be!_ , but then Quinn is picking up the next card. “What is your most terrible memory?”

Rachel swallows thickly, wondering if this is really a can of worms she wants to open with a stranger she’s trying to impress. She figures she might as well be honest, though, and through a rushing in her ears, she manages to stumble through the words, “Hearing the news that my ex-boyfriend died.”

The “oh” Quinn gasps is almost too soft for Rachel to hear, but she does, and it grounds her.

She looks up and searches through a whole range of emotions tumbling around in Quinn’s eyes, all while her face is completely impassive. It’s just impressive enough to keep Rachel distracted so she doesn’t break down while saying, “We had been broken up for a few months, but we were friends still, and he was my first...,” she trails off, and then decides on, “everything. My first everything.”

“It would be weird if you _didn’t_ care,” Quinn says gently, as if waving off any fears Rachel has loitering in the back of her mind.

Rachel nods. “Yeah. Well, anyway. That sucked. Your turn.”

Quinn’s eyebrow moves just a hair, and while there are obviously a million questions burning in her eyes, she seems to decide against it because her next words are, “Mine was waking up in the hospital after the accident. I don’t remember the accident itself at all; at least, not consciously. Sometimes I have dreams, but I have no way of knowing if they’re real or not. My therapist said it’s my brain’s way of protecting itself.”

“Makes sense,” Rachel says.

“Yeah, well, when I woke up, I didn’t know what was going on,” Quinn says. Her lower lip quivers slightly, and then there’s a flash of something in her eyes, and she clenches her jaw as if to stop it. Her voice is hard again when she continues, but there’s a softness to it even _she_ can’t hide. “With spine injuries, you never know how serious it is until the patient wakes up. They knew I had one, but had no way of knowing the impact.”

“I’m assuming they soon found out,” Rachel says, willing herself to just shut up and let Quinn talk.

She doesn’t look bothered, though, and nods. “I was already so confused and stuck together with tubes and bandages and all that shit. They asked me to move my arms. I did, a little, though I was so wrapped up it was hard to do anything. I wiggled my fingers just fine, tensed my rocking abs.” There’s a twinkle in Quinn’s eyes when she says that.

 _Of course she’d find a way to flirt with me while telling me about a car accident_ , Rachel thinks.

Quinn sobers, and continues, “Then they asked me to wiggle all my toes maybe even move my ankles a little. So I did. And then they asked me again. And again. And all I could say was, ‘I am.’ And then I looked at the doctor, and the expression on his face told me everything he didn’t want to say.”

“God, Quinn,” Rachel breathes. She can’t do anything but stare at the woman in front of her.

“They said I’d never walk again,” Quinn says, smiling a little. This time, it’s real, if the clarity in her eyes is any indication. “But look at me now, huh?” She reaches for the next question, takes a deep breath, and then asks, “If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?”

Rachel opens her mouth, searching for an answer that’s come so easily to the previous questions, but she just comes up blank. “I don’t know,” she admits. “What about you?”

Quinn shakes her head. “No, I wouldn’t. I’m happy. For real. And I figure it would be nice to die happy, so why shake things up? And it’s nothing crazy making me content; I wouldn’t want to, like, spend all my money doing random shit. It’s the little things that just make me smile every day, and that’s enough.”

“You’re amazing,” Rachel can’t help herself say. Quinn’s eyes flash with surprise, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her lips that she eventually succumbs to. “Seriously, where have you been all my life?”

“I do think we could have been good friends,” she says, and Rachel tries to ignore how her heart skips a beat of disappointment at the word ‘friends.’ Quinn chuckles as she peeks at the next card and says, “Speaking of, what does friendship mean to you?”

“Someone who sees you at your worst, and reminds you of your best,” Rachel says. An almost uncontrollable smile eases its way onto her lips as she thinks of Kurt, who, despite his less than stellar approach at times, does just that.

“I like that,” Quinn says softly, and there’s a longing in her eyes when she says, “I think of it as being cared about without any outside influence.”

“Good or bad influence?” Rachel asks, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Both,” Quinn admits. “In high school, I was in just about every social standing possible. For a long time, I was at the very top. After my accident, it was pretty rock bottom. Throughout the whole thing, there were always people who only wanted to be friends with me because I was head cheerleader, or didn’t want to be friends with me because I was a wheelchair user. I only really had a couple friendships that existed because they actually liked me.”

“Sounds like your high school missed out,” Rachel says.

Quinn eyes her again, letting a little affection slip through, and Rachel is thoroughly impressed, yet again, at how Quinn is able to let on nothing more than what she wants to. She just clears her throat and reaches for the next card. “What roles do love and affection play in your life?”

Rachel scoffs almost immediately. “Um, nothing?”

Quinn grins, a wide smile that makes her even more attractive, if possible. “Cheers to that.” And then, “Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items each.”

“You’re thoughtful,” Rachel says, hoping it’s not a shit compliment.

“You’re confident,” Quinn says.

“Strong.”

“Talented.”

“You don’t even know that,” Rachel says, rolling her eyes to mask the blush falling onto her cheeks. “You’re passionate.”

“Likewise,” Quinn says.

“And pretty,” Rachel says. Considering Quinn _just_ said she thinks Rachel’s confident, she forces herself to meet her eyes. She realizes immediately it was probably a mistake, because Quinn winks at her.

“Likewise,” she repeats. Before Rachel has a chance to hyperventilate, yet again, Quinn has moved on. “How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?”  
“I’m really close with my dads,” Rachel says. “I was bullied my whole life because I was, well, admittedly pretty annoying. We spent a lot of time together because of it, though. You?”

“I don’t speak to my father,” Quinn says, shrugging. “I’m fake civil with my mother. My childhood was happy, I think, but I’ve come to realize it wasn’t real. I was happy because I was playing the part of it. It wasn’t until I actually _did_ become comfortable that I realized that what I thought I was feeling wasn’t really it.”

“I’m glad you’re happy now,” Rachel says softly, and Quinn just nods imperceptibly. She takes that moment of pause to swipe the next card. “My turn to ask.” She arches one eyebrow. “How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?”

“Didn’t know this study would be a therapy session,” Quinn grumbles, but she sighs, sits back, and says, “She’s supportive now, I think. But deep down, I know that no matter what, I could never forgive her for enabling my father. I understand now he was abusive and stuff, but I was just a kid. And I needed her.”

“You can sympathize and still be upset,” Rachel says gently. “These things aren’t always black and white.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Quinn says. “And you?”

“I don’t really have a relationship with my birth mother,” Rachel says. “I didn’t meet her until I was sixteen, and she didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“I’m sorry?” Quinn says, looking unsure for the first time.

“Don’t be,” Rachel says, shaking her head. “She gave me half my DNA, but nothing more. It isn’t sad that we don’t have a relationship, it’s just how it is.”

She’s so lost in thought, she doesn’t even notice Quinn reaching for the question pile until the card is already in her hand. She frowns, but Quinn just gives her an angelic smile. “Make three true ‘we’ statements each. For instance, ‘We are both in this room feeling...’”

“We both came to New York City for a fresh start,” Rachel says. She taps her chin and then perks up. “We’re both wearing blue!”

“And we’re both into women,” Quinn says.

“I mean, yeah,” Rachel says, trying to play it cool. Even though she already knew that, hearing Quinn actually say it hits so much differently.

“Complete this sentence: ‘I wish I had someone with whom I could share...’”

“My heart,” Rachel says. She rolls her eyes at herself. “Does that make me sound totally needy, or what?”

“Humans are needy beings by nature,” Quinn says with a shrug. “I wish I had someone with whom I could share my past. A sister I’m actually close with, or a childhood friend from, like, kindergarten. I think that would be nice.”

Now that she’s thinking about it, Rachel starts wondering what it would be like if she didn’t have anyone in her life like that. Stopping herself from thinking too hard about it, she grabs the next card. “If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know.”

“The muscles in my legs twitch sometimes,” Quinn says with a little smile. “Like, just involuntarily. It’s super weird.”

“Because of your accident?” Rachel asks.

“Yeah, it started after I began physical therapy. They got worse, then got better, but they still happen sometimes,” she explains. “Freaks a lot of people out, I guess. What about you?”

“As I said before, I had no friends growing up because I was super annoying,” Rachel says. “And I know I didn’t deserve _all_ that happened to me, but I’m ambitious to a fault and it hurts my relationships. It’s come between me and Kurt before. I’m sure it will again.”

“No offense, but I can totally picture that,” Quinn says. There’s a playful smile dancing on her lips, and the way she looks at Rachel with such endearment makes her heart sing. She almost misses when Quinn starts the next question. “Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met.”

“Easy,” Rachel starts, willing herself to just say the words as they come, or she’ll overthink it and change her mind. “I am in _awe_ of your strength. You’ve gone through so much, and to see you come out as kind and funny and humble as you are is just incredible.”

Quinn doesn’t spare Rachel’s comment any more than a small smile, and just starts, “I know you said your ambition makes you obnoxious and horrible --”

“-- hey now, I didn’t say _that,_ ” Rachel protests.

“-- but to me I just see that as passion,” Quinn says, cutting her off with a ‘hold on’ hand gesture. “And that’s rare. To have a true passion in life is so rare nowadays. Whether it has its downsides is another story, but I think it’s amazing how sure of yourself and your life you are.”

“Thank you.” If she’s surprised that Quinn even noticed that, she doesn’t say anything. If she becomes acutely aware of the fact that nobody else, except for maybe Kurt and her parents, has ever seen that part of her right away, she _definitely_ doesn’t store that info in the back of her mind to think about later.

“Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life,” Quinn reads out, and then tosses the card down. “Well, that’s easy. My entire junior year of high school.”

“I can top that,” Rachel says immediately, ignoring the way Quinn smirks when she says ‘top that.’ “Mine would be my _entire_ time at high school, with an honorable mention to getting slushied on the first day of freshman year.”

“You got _what_?” Quinn demands.

“Slushied,” Rachel repeats, rolling her eyes. “Some stupid thing kids at my school did. They’d get slushies from 7-11 and throw them in people’s faces.”

“Yikes,” Quinn says.

“Yep,” Rachel says. “Not my best moments.”

“When did you last cry in front of another person?” Quinn asks. She wiggles her eyebrows. “By yourself?”

“Cried last night watching a movie with Kurt,” Rachel says. “Then I cried by myself in bed last night _thinking_ about the movie.”

“What movie?” Quinn laughs.

“Up,” Rachel says. “You know, with the balloon house and everything.”

“That _is_ a good movie,” Quinn muses. “I don’t really cry, I guess. I tear up when I’m angry, which is so annoying, and, like, the opposite of what I want to be doing at a time like that.”

“That’s kinda cute,” Rachel admits.

“Exactly!” Quinn complains. “And then I wasn’t allowed to cry as a kid, so I don’t think I actually _can_ anymore.”

“You weren’t _allowed_ to?” Rachel asks incredulously.

“Not really,” Quinn says with a shrug. “They didn’t say anything when I fell out of the tree and broke my wrist, but any time else, it was kind of unspoken that I was supposed to get it together.”

“That’s horrible,” Rachel says.

Quinn gives her a ‘what can you do?’ kind of look, and slides the next card off the pile. “Tell your partner something that you like about them already.”

“Everything,” Rachel says immediately. Quinn raises her eyebrows, and Rachel flushes. “I mean, if we’re being honest.” Feigning an attempt at nonchalance, she nods towards the card. “Now you compliment me.”

“How am I supposed to top _that_?” Quinn wonders.

Rachel refrains from making the joke that Kurt would absolutely make if he were there, and picks the next one. “What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?”

“I mean, like, rape and stuff,” Quinn says. “Racism, all that.”

Rachel doesn’t say anything, just nods with a little noise of agreement. “If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?”

“I’d regret not yelling at my mom at least once,” Quinn muses. “I talk so much shit about being fake and whatever, but I’m still doing it with her. I don’t even know why. Old habits die hard, I guess. You?”

“I’d regret not telling my dads I’m gay,” Rachel says. “I know _they_ wouldn’t have an issue with it, but they spent so long trying to fight the stereotype that same-sex parents raise gay children, and here I am.”

“Correlation, not causation,” Quinn says. Then she frowns. “I think. Right?”

“I think so,” Rachel laughs. “Realistically, I know it’s dumb, but I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“You will,” Quinn promises. “Did I not tell you you’re confident?”

“Being told it and actually being it are two different things,” Rachel informs her, but she’s starting to think that maybe just the fact that Quinn thinks it is enough of a boost for her.

“We’re almost done,” Quinn notes, pointing to the ever dwindling stack of unasked questions. “Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?”

“My picture of Finn,” Rachel says immediately. “My ex-boyfriend. The one that died. Like, I’m gay, and we weren’t even together when it happened, but...” she trails off.

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” Quinn reassures her gently. “I’d save a photo too. Me and my best friends from high school. We went through a lot, and while we aren’t as close as we used to be, I know they always have my back.”

Rachel grabs the second to last card. “Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?”  
“You go,” Quinn says.

“I guess either of my dads,” Rachel says. “Because, you know. They’re my dads. You?”

“I’m not really close to any of my family,” Quinn admits. “I think either of my parents maybe, just because I hate that it would mean I never got real closure with them, but I don’t think that’ll happen anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to get closure?” Rachel asks.

“Just the fact that I need to hear them apologize and say they were wrong,” Quinn says. “But that would never happen. My father maintains to this day that kicking me out when I was seventeen and newly paralyzed was the best gift he ever gave me.”

“What?” Rachel says. “That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s Russell,” Quinn says bitterly. She reaches for the last card. “Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how he or she might handle it.”

Rachel bites her lower lip for way too long, stalling for time. Deciding to just go for it, she pushes aside the worry train racing around inside her head and says, “I think I like a girl. I’m not even out, though, and I basically just met her.”

“Go for it,” Quinn says immediately. Rachel eyes her carefully, but it doesn’t seem like she’s caught on. “Every relationship has to start with a meeting, right?”

“I guess so,” Rachel says carefully. She doesn’t know if she’s grateful or disappointed that Quinn doesn’t notice the implications behind her words. “And you?”

“Similar issue, actually,” Quinn says thoughtfully. “Except, I _am_ out, so that might make it easier. Maybe I should take my own advice, huh?”

“Please do,” Rachel says.

And then it’s over. There are no more cards left, no more questions, and Rachel is silently cursing herself for doing the study because clearly it worked, but quite possibly set her up for a horrible unrequited love.

The proctor knocks lightly on the door, and then lets herself in, and though she’s saying some closing statements and info on payment, Rachel doesn’t hear any of it. She’s just staring at Quinn the whole time, who has somehow been walking around the same city as her, and she wasn't even aware of it until now.

Quinn is undeniably pretty, of course, and with those eyes, Rachel is sure the blond could switch from cute to hot in seconds, but it’s the way Quinn has such a story, yet manages to hide it seamlessly from the outside world, intrigues Rachel in a way she doesn’t know if she’ll ever get over.

Then Quinn is standing, and Rachel realizes the whole experiment is done, for real. They walk out together, silently, both four hundred dollars richer, and Rachel is trying to find a way to hide the sorry ass tears of disappointment welling up in her eyes. Before she can wave goodbye, Quinn catches her by the elbow.

“Do you wanna get coffee?” she asks.

“Yes,” Rachel says immediately. “I would love to.”

Rachel can’t help but fall back half a stride and stare at the way Quinn’s legs move so effortlessly and elegantly as she leads them down the street. Quinn looks back and catches Rachel with a smirk. “Checking me out?”

“Maybe,” Rachel says.

“And?” Quinn asks.

“And I’m shocked that you were ever paralyzed,” Rachel admits.

Quinn laughs, and slows so they’re shoulder to shoulder again. “I get that a lot. I hide it well, but don’t ask me to run.”

The coffee shop is cute. Nothing special, but it’s so _Quinn_. There’s a sophisticated aura to the place, but it’s still comfortable, casual, and there are little signs everywhere shouting out social justice slogans. 

“My usual,” Quinn tells the barista, “and whatever she wants.”

“No, let me pay,” Rachel says.

“I think I can afford to buy you a coffee, Rachel,” she laughs. “I just got four-hundred dollars.”

“So did I,” Rachel says, arching one eyebrow.

“Well, I asked you to coffee first,” Quinn says, sliding over her card. “I win.”

“Do you?” the barista snorts. “ _You’re_ the one losing, like, fifteen bucks.”

“But I could be gaining so much more,” Quinn says with a smirk. She looks at Rachel. “This is Sam. He’s my favorite barista.”

“Hi, Sam,” Rachel says. She looks at the menu for two seconds. “Surprise me. I think.”

“You got it,” Sam salutes.

“Get us a seat?” Quinn asks, giving Rachel ever-so-slight puppy dog eyes, as if she needed to be convinced. 

“Inside or outside?” Rachel mimes grabbing for Quinn’s purse, and takes it carefully as Quinn slips it off. 

“Inside, it’s fucking cold.” Quinn waves, and walks off to the ‘bathroom’ sign like she knows Rachel’s watching.

_Go for it._

Quinn’s words echo in her head. Before she can chicken out, Rachel grabs a napkin from the coffee bar and slips into the table text to it. Whipping out a pen, she hurriedly scrawls her name and number on it, and then folds it into Quinn’s purse.

She’s just hoping, _praying_ that Quinn doesn’t open her purse and take it out with her sitting right there, because she thinks she would immediately die. She’s also hoping she didn’t read the signs wrong. Her cover story if Quinn isn’t interested has something to do with wanting to be friends, as if surreptitiously leaving her number in a platonic way isn’t really fucking weird.

Quinn doesn’t notice, luckily. She returns with a smile, and two coffees in hand. The conversation flows perfectly, picking up right where they left off. She knows Kurt is going to absolutely lose his mind when he finds out she actually started to fall in love with the study partner, but looking at Quinn across from her, all she can think is, _How could I not?_

It’s only then one specific question starts itching at her again. She bites her lip, and then asks, “So why did you do the study in the first place?”

“Curiosity,” Quinn says. Her eyes search Rachel’s inquisitively, like she’s hoping to find the answer Rachel wants her to say. “I didn’t expect anything of it, I was just curious. And, you know, four hundred dollars.”

“Fair enough,” Rachel says.

“And you?” Quinn asks, arching one eyebrow the way she does so well.

“Same, I guess,” Rachel says. “A stress free way of going on a kind of date with a girl for the first time, too.”

“A date, huh?” Quinn says.

“I mean, sort of,” Rachel says. She’s praying Quinn isn’t weirded out, because that would make her finding Rachel’s number in her purse even more horrible.

“Well, pro-tip,” Quinn starts, “a date is more effective if you actually ask the girl.”

“Yeah, I was getting to that,” Rachel mumbles. She doesn’t, though, and if Quinn looks disappointed when they awkwardly hug goodbye, she doesn't comment on it.

As Rachel finds her way home as if on autopilot, she knows she’s never been this hung up on anyone before, and it’s only been one damn hour since they parted ways. She spends the next day resisting the urge to just sit and stare at her phone for hours, and is just realizing how heartbreakingly mortifying it would be if Quinn doesn’t text her, when her phone buzzes.

_leaving your number in my purse? really?_

Then,

_ps it’s quinn._

Rachel smiles, and, with fingers shaking more out of excitement than anything else, types, _I know. So, any day after thoughts on the study?_

The typing bubble taunts her for far too long.

_well, i have to say i think it worked._

**Author's Note:**

> quinnfebrey on tumblr. come chat!


End file.
